A Different Kind of Soul Mate
by bluegal19
Summary: Series of oneshots and drabbles about the friendship and bond between Female Elf Inquisitor and her best friend Dorian. Mentions of Dorian/Iron Bull and F!Elf!Inquisitor/Solas and F!Elf!Inquisitor/Cullen
1. One More Good Man

Author's Note: Dragon Age Inquisition belongs to Bioware, I am just playing with their dragons

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><p>It started out as many days did in Skyhold, with an entirely too cold wind making its way through the drafty halls, and the sounds of too many people and animals in one place ringing in the air. It was one of the reasons Dorian much preferred to while away his time in the library: there were less people milling about, and the sounds of the courtyard were muffled by the stones of the keep and the cawing of crows from the rookery.<p>

However, he knew that he couldn't avoid the masses forever. Lavellan had come around to speak with him the day before, as she now did nearly every day they were both in Skyhold. During their customary game of chess, one that she lost rather spectacularly he remembered with a smirk, she brought up a new staff schematic that she had come across on one of her latest missions. As a rogue she had little experience with such things, but thought it looked different from others she had seen, and wanted an "expert opinion" as she had deemed it. It was a rather ingenious design, and different from others he had seen before, so he promised to help her in its creation the next day.

As he made his way down the stairs and into the main hall, his eyes were drawn to the throne that stood on the dais at the end of the room. The sun was pouring through the window at such an angle that the blood red throne was bathed in its rays, and the sticking of the Inquisition mark stood out in stark relief. He saw others notice the image as well, and he could hear a resurgence of "I heard that the herald...", and "did you hear of Her Worship's latest..." in many a conversation. He couldn't help but grimace at the talk. He didn't believe Lavellan was sent by a divine power any more than she did, but that didn't stop the fanatical minds of the people from twisting her into something she didn't want or need to be.

He strode through the groups of people towards the Undercroft, intent on getting to the quiet room as swiftly as possible, when a scream ripped through the air. All conversations ground to a staggering halt, and Dorian's hand instinctively reached for his staff. It was missing from his back. He swore violently to himself; he had left it in his rooms again. Dorian lowered himself, and began to intently look around, searching for a sign of an assassin or intruder. Not even a few seconds had passed however, when another wail followed by a thud rang out.

This time, he knew exactly where it had come from, and before anyone else could react, he ran full speed across the hall and threw open the door that led to the War Room.

He ran down the hall and was just making his way past the fireplace in Josephine's office when the huge wooden doors that led into the war room were violently thrown open. Lavellan herself stalked out in a fury, with Cullen and Leliana quick on her heels.

"What is..." is all he managed to get out before she forced herself by him without saying a word, and stormed out of the room, leaving the door to fall behind her. Dorian turned, brows furrowed to, to stare at the two advisors who had followed their leader out.

"What in the blazes happened," Dorian cried out. He had been with Lavellan and the Inquisition for some time now, and had seen her temper flare at a few unfortunate souls, but it was nothing like what he had just witnessed. He watched Leliana and Cullen share a look, and after a small nod from Cullen, Leliana began to speak.

"There was a complication," she started in a low voice, "on one of the missions."

There was the shuffle of feet behind them and Dorian saw Josephine slowly emerge from the room, her makeup running down her face as tears flooded from her eyes.

"It was my fault," she whispered softly. "She asked me to keep them safe, and now..." Her voice cut off with a sob, as she stood there weeping with her arms wrapped around herself. Knowing that not much more could be gotten from the distraught ambassador, Dorian again turned with eyes to the other two.

"We received word that the Inquisitor's clan was having issues with bandits as of late," Leliana continued in the same low, saddened tone as before. "The Inquisitor asked Josephine to handle the issue by talking to the lord on whose lands they had been staying. However, the lord was unable to assist and her clan..." Leliana sighed heavily and looked back towards Josephine, whose tears were still flowing freely. "Her clan was killed, and any remaining survivors have fled to unknown locations."

Dorian just stared at them in stunned silence. How could a mission so simple go so catastrophically wrong?

"Someone should go and check on her," said Cullen, finally breaking his silence. "I know this is a major shock to her, but we cannot let the rest of the Inquisition see her like this. It could damage her reputation among the nobles."

As Cullen and Leliana began to discuss damage control, with phrases like "finally got their support" and "cultivation of her image" being thrown around, Dorian shot them both looks of disgust. The Commander was a good general, but his people skills must have decayed during his time as a templar. As for Leliana, there were times when she needed to remember that the people she played with as a spymaster were indeed still people, not simply pawns in her larger game of Inquisition domination.

"If you three don't mind, I am going to check on our esteemed leader, considering that two of you only seem to care about appearances, and the other can't seem to stop crying long enough to get out a sentence." Three heads snapped up at his outburst, and Cullen and Josephine had the grace to look ashamed, while Leliana's eyes hardened in anger towards the mage.

Dorian shook his head once more, then turned on his heel and set a quick pace towards the Inquisitor's private quarters. After climbing a truly ridiculous amount of stairs, he knocked loudly on her door.

"Get out;" Lavellan cried out, "I just want to be left alone, Leliana."

"I'm sorry dearest, but I am afraid you'll have to suffer my company, and not our esteemed spymaster," Dorian replied, attempting to make his voice as lighthearted as possible. There was a brief pause during which he heard nothing. He was hoping to hear the lock click, but had no such luck.

"Please Dorian, just leave me be," she called back in a much quieter tone, her voice cracking with emotion at the end of her plea. That crack stirred something within him, a feeling he had not felt for a rather long while.

"My darling Inquisitor, I am afraid I can do no such thing. I can however, conjure a small flame in which to light your door on fire if you should choose not to let me in. Of course, I am not quite as talented with water based magic, so who knows if I could put it out..." He let his voice trail off, and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps. Sure enough, he heard her soft tread coming closer, and the door flung open.

She looked a mess. Her short hair was in shambles, sticking up every which way, her face was stained with tear tracks, and her eyes were pink from her sobs. The one thing that rather alarmed him, however, was the already strong smell of liquor hanging like a curtain about her person. Despite all this, she quirked a small smile at the mage in her doorway.

"As if you'd ever admit you were less than perfect at anything."

Dorian raised his eyebrow and cocked a half-smile, "Well, I must be possessed then. Quick, grab your blades, before my true form bursts forth and kills us all."

Lavellan just shook her head at her friends antics, but the smile soon fell from her face, and as it did, she turned around and beckoned him to follow her up the stairs. When they got to the top, she walked to the table where a tumbler filled with a rather alarming amount of whisky sat, then flung herself onto the ridiculously ornate bed that Vivienne had insisted they buy last time they were in Val Royeaux. She just lie there, eyes slightly unfocused and face set in an angry frown, ignoring the man in the middle of her room and nursing her drink.

Dorian paused for a moment, looking at the broken woman before him, before joining her on the bed, sinking farther into the mattress than she did.

"Your skin will never recover if you don't stop making those faces soon," he said, searching her face intently. "You'll get lines by your mouth. And crow's feet. The next thing you know, you look thirty-five instead of twenty-five. Is that what you really want?"

The change was immediate. The eyes that had been unfocused just moments before snapped to lock onto his, and her frown went feral as she leaned forward.

"You have no idea what I want! No fucking clue!" she snarled out, sloshing her drink. "Don't pretend like you know anything!"

Dorian just continued to stare at her, holding her gaze, and as quickly as it came, the rage dissipated and she collapsed with a slump as sorrow crept back into her body. She curled in into herself, and brought the glass once again to her lips. He reached over grabbed the glass from her hand, and as she protested, he set it down out of her reach on the floor.

"Lavellan, you cannot keep doing this to yourself," he said, his tone rather firm. "Drinking yourself into a stupor _can_ be extremely therapeutic-Maker knows I'm no stranger to the concept-but not if you keep every problem repressed. At some point it's going to have to come out, and if you keep it locked down, that moment may not come at the best of times. It hasn't for me."

She slowly looked up at him, large green eyes full of sorrow and tears, and the next thing he knew, Dorian had his arms full of elf. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head was buried in the crook of his shoulder, and she was sobbing. Not the kind he remembered growing up with in Tevinter, where the ladies would gracefully let a single tear or two fall in a false show mourning. This was gut wrenching, full bodied sobbing that wracked her small frame. When and if (who knows with those shallow harpies back home) they did ever mourn, it certainly wasn't around him.

He knew that he wasn't the best one to be with her in such a situation. He had so little experience in matters such as this, but this was Lavellan, and he knew that she was more important than his skewed Tevinter sense of propriety. So he wrapped his arms around her carefully and slowly rubbed her back, whispering calming nothings into her ears until her sobbing ceased.

Lavellan sat back onto the bed, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She stared down at the bedcovers, sniffling away. Dorian was about to say something, when she started to talk.

"I thought that Josephine would be able to help. I was worried for them when I got word about the bandits, but she said that she knew the lord of that patch of land, and he would be able to help. I just wanted them to be okay..." she trailed off, and looked out the window and out towards the mountains, bottom lip shaking in an effort to not cry again. "I never wanted to leave, but they needed some of the best hunters to go and spy on the meeting at the conclave. Our clan was constantly running into both rogue templars and mages, and we were constantly on the move, trying to avoid the chaos. I was one of the best rogues we had, so I was sent off." She looked back down at her hands and sighed, "The temple blew up, and now here I am, stuck with a mark on my hand, terrifying powers that I cannot begin to understand, and in all honesty, I have no idea what I am doing."

Tears starting falling again down the tip of her nose, when Dorian reached out to pull her small, calloused hand into his.

"You are doing the best that you can, and honestly, it is more than I think anyone else could have done," Dorian said softly.

"Do you honestly think this can all work out?" she asked, turning her head towards him once more, her giant eyes searching into his.

Dorian sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. The odds are stacked against us and the sheer amount of magical power we are against..." He shook his head at his own melancholy. He shot her a smile, and the cheek returned to his voice, "...but I do know that if I were a betting man, and I am a betting man, that if anyone would be able to get us through this mess it would be you"

The smile he had grown accustomed to after months together grew on her face.

"Thank you Dorian" she said, squeezing his hand tightly while staring off into the distance.

"Now my dear," he said, standing up and offering an arm to her. "It is my opinion that we should get out of this room, go find your favorite dwarf, and drink ourselves into a happy stupor over another game of Wicked Grace."

"I thought you said that I wasn't supposed to drink anymore," she said, still sitting on the bed.

"No, I said you weren't allowed to drink until you talked about it. Now you have talked about it, so the drinking can resume in earnest."

She looked up once more, her face lit up by a smile that finally reached her eyes.

"Well, there is no way I can fault that logic," she replied cheekily. She stood to take the proffered arm. "Lead the way, good ser mage. On towards to company of friends, the bottle, and questionable decisions."

And so they went, Dorian lending her support as they stumbled down the stairs and out the door together.

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><p>Author's Note: After playing through DAI, my favorite character was Dorian, and he and my Inquisitor had such an awesome friendship, and I really wanted to explore that. I also somehow killed my clan, (still not sure how), and I wanted to examine how she would have reacted to such news, and how Dorian could have been there for her. This is the first fanfic I have written in a long time, so please let me know what you thought!<p> 


	2. Decisions and Dancing

Author's Note: Big thanks to my beta HuntressoftheLight for her help with this chapter! I do not own DAI, I am merely playing in their sandbox

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><p>Orlais, Lavellan decided, was an exhausting place. A pretty one to be sure, but it was filled to the brim with ridiculous power plays by nobles who couldn't relate to anything that existed outside their ornate, close-minded bubble. Nope, Halamshiral was not a place she wanted to revisit anytime soon.<p>

As she leaned against the railing outside the ballroom, all she wanted to do was take off her ridiculous dress and lie down on the bench beside her to sleep. It had been one of the more trying evenings as the Herald, or Inquisitor, or whatever idiotic name she was being called nowadays.

She had felt like an outsider from the moment she was agreed to be a part of the Inquisition in one way or another. With those she worked with on a regular basis, like Varric and Cassandra, the feeling eventually faded as camaraderie and friendship took hold, but there were always others around who stirred up her feelings of being an interloper. Whether it was due to the terrifying mark on her hand, or to her elven heritage and Dalish markings, people had a tendency to stare, while pretending to do otherwise.

She was used to these stares, but ever since she was declared Inquisitor at Skyhold, the snide remarks about her heritage were generally kept out of her range of hearing. She had grown accustomed to silence on that particular matter, so hearing it so loudly discussed and criticized at the palace that night had been... unsettling to say the least. There had been a few times when Dorian and Vivienne had to physically restrain her from jumping on the back of yet another Orlesian racist for making some quip about "elven savages" and questioning why she was let in the palace in the first place. The horrific manner in which the elves were treated rattled her, and the image of the elven servants splayed across the kitchen floors, kept creeping back into her mind. It was so easy to forget how badly elves as a whole were treated. Her clan had never interacted much with humans, and now she was in a position where she wielded enough power that most overlooked her race.

She sighed as she looked out over the terrace, watching the guests milling about the courtyard under the stars. She wished she could call it a night, but Leliana said that they were required to stay for at least another two hours. They had, after all, saved the Empress' life, and as a thank you, she insisted that they stay as guests of honor for the remainder of the evening.

The Queen and her newfound grip on the throne of Orlais was already weighing on Lavellen as well. Had she made the right decision? What if Celene didn't have a strong enough hold on the chevaliers to mobilize them into a force? Would Gaspard have been a better choice? He did have the military expertise, but his grasp of The Game was weak. Though Lavellen personally found the whole "Game" to be absurd, it seemed to be a crucial aspect of Orlesiain politics, and his lack of understanding could have caused a breakdown amongst the nobility. Then there was Briala. Lavellan wanted to put her on the throne so badly. Her policies and ambition could have improved the lives of so many elves, but if she was honest with herself, she knew that Orlais wasn't ready for such radical changes. The nobility would have revolted in protest of both Briala's policies and the woman herself, and then the Inquisitions mission of bringing peace to Orlais would have been for naught. Still, it was so hard to watch that opportunity fall to the wayside.

"I was stopped by no less than three young men, and five ancient ones, all looking for a certain Inquisitor to either dance with or propose marriage to. Quite possibly a combination of the two," came a voice from behind her.

Crossing the threshold onto the balcony came Dorian, the gold on his uniform gleamed even in the twilight. He stepped up to the balcony to stand next to her, mimicking her position.

"I told them all that you left for the evening, but I do not think they believed me. You may thank me now, or later if you prefer, for keeping your hiding spot a secret, but I do believe I shall demand payment." He glanced over at the slump in her shoulders and the far-off look in her eyes.

"You seem to be thinking much too hard for a woman dressed the way you are," he said, gently ribbing her mood. "So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"It's just been... a very long night," she replied heavily.

"But you won!" he cried incredulously. "You quite literally saved the day. You should be celebrating!" He stood straight and gestured grandly at their opulent surroundings. She just stared back at him, though her eyebrow that was raised at his actions did not quite mask the tiredness in her eyes.

"I know just what you need- a distraction. Come, I have an idea." With that, he offered his arm out to the elf.

She took it rather reluctantly, "What exactly is your idea of a distraction?" she asked him. She loved her friend, but his idea of a good time had a tendency to...differ rather radically from hers.

"We, my dear," he said sweeping her back inside, and toward the staircase down to the ballroom floor, "are going to dance."

Lavellan's eyes went even wider than usual, as she tried to pull her arm out from his. He however, had thought she may pull something like this, and had her forearm in a vicegrip.  
>"You know I have no idea how to dance like this!" she hissed in a low voice, trying to stall him in a way that didn't draw attention to them. It wasn't working overly well. Squirming violently and stomping one's feet were not something often seen at the Orlesian court, especially by a young women being led to dance.<p>

"Nonsense!" Dorian proclaimed, in a tone that drew even more attention to the pair. "You can vault over a demon's head, and kill a man before he even knows you were behind him! This is nothing."

As he continued to pull her into the center of the room, she started to panic. Put her against a group of bandits or abominations, and she was fine, but she was starting to sweat under the stares so many people.

"That is completely different, and you know it Dorian. I grew up Dalish, remember? Funny markings on my face? I didn't learn any fucking shem dances!" she whispered, a tinge of hysteria creeping into her voice.

He raised her hand onto his shoulder as he settled his on her waist. He could see her eyes frantically darting around the room, and the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. He shot her a cocky smile and leaned in.

"Just trust me," he whispered into her ear. With a glare and a rather determined nod of her head, she straightened up, and the musicians started to play.

As they started to move, Lavellan felt herself begin to stumble over her own feet. Dorian wasn't wrong when he said that she was graceful on a battlefield, but set her to a piece of music, and any grace just seemed to disappear.

But Dorian seemed to know exactly what he was doing. With a slight push back on her hand and hips, and then a small pull forward, he managed to guide her in long sweeping circles along the marble floor of the ballroom.

She never stumbled once.

About halfway through the piece, when she finally realized that the likelihood of her falling onto her face and embarrassing herself had passed, Lavellan began to smile. She grinned up at her partner, who gave a rather salacious wink back, as they continued to turn.

She looked around the room she was in; beautiful couples in extravagant outfits, a sparkling chandelier, ornate carvings and statues inlaid with gold and silver. She realized, in both horror and glee, that she must have looked exactly like a character from one of those shem stories: a poor girl who ends up in a palace with a beautiful dress, dancing with a handsome man. She gave a small snort. The image was so ridiculous, but fit her in a really twisted, sick sort of way. She was the heroine who grew up poor, spied on a meeting, had magical powers infused in her hand, had to save the world, and along the way, ended up at a ball in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away with her friend who had absolutely no interest in women.

"Whatever are you snorting about?" said Dorian, horror infusing the word "snort", as if it were the worst thing she could have ever done.

"Oh, just thinking about the humor of this particular situation," she said, smirking back at him.

"Well, at least you are finally finding something to smile about," he quipped back. "You did look hopelessly dull before, all alone on your balcony."

"How could I not feel better when dancing with the most handsome man in the room?" she replied.

"I am, aren't I. Though, to be honest it isn't as much a competition as I would like it to be. Too many old men I should say."

Lavellan gave another snort at his ridiculous ego, to which he raised his eyebrow, "You are one of the most self-admiring people I have ever met."

"And you my dear, are one of the most stubborn."

She gave him a brilliant smile, as the dance came to an end. "But I don't think I would change us for anything," she said, her voiced laced with both humor and conviction.

He gave her a soft smile, one that she didn't often get to see.

"Neither would I." With that, he presented her his arm, which she took rather gracefully and they made their way through the crowd of people, up to their companions, watching from the gallery above.

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><p>Author's Note: So, I decided to continue this story and write some more about these two, because honestly, I cannot get enough of them! As please, please leave a review or even just like. It is nourishment :)<p> 


	3. Broken Hearts and Broken Noses

Author's Note: Big thanks to my beta HuntressoftheLight, and I do not own DA, but I wish I did.

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><p>It had been three days. That's how long it had been since Dorian last saw Lavellan. Well, three days since he had last <em>really<em> seen her. She had gone off on a secret mission with Solas one night, telling only Leliana before they headed off, and when they got back, she disappeared. He knew that she was still around Skyhold. He saw her in the courtyard the previous morning buying something from Belle, and he knew she had been down to the kitchens, but she hadn't been around to see him or anyone else for that matter since she got back.

Well, enough was enough. It wasn't like her to disappear so completely, and he wasn't about to just let it slide. He knew there was something wrong. When he had asked Solas if he had seen her, Solas simply stared at him with his eyes as judgemental as ever, and curtly responded that he had not, and if Dorian could please leave him to work now, as he was very busy.

Dorian couldn't stand the elf. It wasn't the fact he was an elf, which is why many around Skyhold steered clear of him. Nor was it the fact that he was an apostate, which would be incredibly hypocritical coming from him, but Dorian did know that it was the reason why people like Cassandra and Vivienne didn't care for him. No it was undoubtedly his attitude. He considered himself such an expert on everything to do with magic, and looked down on those who didn't hold very similar beliefs. The passive aggressive lecture he had gotten about his "twisted perversion of spirits" as a necromancer had put the two at odds early on, and Dorian knew that Solas didn't like his closeness that he shared with Lavellan.

If Solas cared so much, then why wasn't he more concerned about the situation at hand? It was another piece that didn't quite fit, and Dorian was more convinced that he needed to find Lavellan.

But where to look for her? He had already checked her usual haunts, being the tavern and her bedroom, as well as the stables. He was beginning to run out of ideas. As his eyes raised to the sky to think, his gaze ran across the courtyard tower.

"Caught you now, little rogue," he thought to himself. He began to stroll across the courtyard, filled with soldiers training, and towards the stone steps that led up to the tower, and hopefully Lavellan.

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><p>As he climbed the final ladder up to the topmost platform, he sensed immediately that Lavellan was nearby. He looked to his right, and there she was, curled into the corner, sitting on the cold stone, looking out at the mountains before them.<p>

She looked terrible. Her eyes were glazed over; she didn't even notice that her solitude had been interrupted. But that wasn't what shocked him most. As he stared down at her face, he noticed that her vallaslin was gone. Not faded, but completely vanished.

"I am rather put out with you," he said, walking towards her, startling her out of her trance. "I have been looking all over Skyhold, and of course, you were in the last place I thought to look."

She stared guiltily up at him, "You didn't need to do that."

Dorian sat down slowly next to her, wincing ever so slightly at the grime that covered the stone beneath them.

"Well, obviously I did. Who else would play chess with me? Cullen has become insufferable after his last victory." She gave a small smile at that, but just as quickly as it came, it vanished.

He waited a few moments before resuming his search for answers, "I know this has something to do with that mission you snuck out on. Not the smartest decision you've made you know, going off on your own," he said quietly.

"How can you tell?" she snarled back.

He didn't rise to the bait, "Well, you decided to pull a disappearing act since you returned. No one has seen you, not even your lover. And now, I would have to guess that it has something to do with your physical change,"

She winced at the word lover, then looked back out over the mountains that stretched out before them. She started to talk, though she seemed oddly disconnected from the words she was saying.

"He took me out, to where the veil was thin. He told me...things I didn't want to hear," she said in a small voice.

"What things?" Dorian inquired.

"You don't want to know."

"Indulge me," he said, probing her on.

She gave a large sigh, still refusing to look at him, "He told me that the Dalish had it wrong. The vallaslin were never meant to honor the Creators. They were meant to denote slavery."

Dorian was surprised, but at the same time, he wasn't at all. He had been there at the temple of Mythal, and the Keeper's story of the true fall of the Elven empire made him realize that most all of that history had been lost to the ages. The stories of who had caused the Elven empire to fall were incorrect, so it wasn't a stretch to imagine that much of the remaining lore was incorrect as well. But he knew that it would have been a shock to her. She had told him of her markings before, and how she had taken the same mark that her grandmother, a famous hunter in her clan, once wore. And now it was gone.

"He offered to take it away, to free me and I said yes. He took it away, and told me I was beautiful."

Dorian listened to her story, wondering where the story went sour.

"Then he left me."

Oh, that's where.

"What do you mean he left you?" Dorian asked, his anger growing by the second.

"I mean he left. Said we were over and apologized from distracting me from my duty. Because that is what always matters," she bitterly said.

Dorian couldn't believe the nerve of the fucking elf. He must have known what those marks meant to her, how proud she was of them. Who cares what they used to mean, what was important is what they meant now, and to her, it meant her clan and her home, a home she no longer had. More importantly, he must have known how important his opinion was to her, and how much she cared for him. Then he just threw it away, like it was rotten meat or a scrap of cloth.

"And then what?" Dorian didn't think he even wanted to know the answer.

"He left, and said he would see me at Skyhold."

"So he left you in an unknown location, and you were forced to come home...alone?"

"That about sums it up."

Dorian sat there for a moment, stunned into silence at the stupidity of the elf, and the callousness of his actions.

"You realize that he is, without a doubt, a piece of shit, don't you?"

"I know. Creators know I am fully aware," She leaned onto Dorian's shoulder, as he wrapped his arm around her, "It doesn't mean it hurts any less."

"I know darling," he said softly, "Heartbreak is never easy." So he sat with her, her head on his chest, and his arm around her shoulders, staring out at the sun that was just starting to set over the snow, causing beautiful reds and oranges to dance over the white canvas.

As she cried her sorrow away, he knew that he would be having words with Solas as soon as he was done.

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><p>Dorian stalked into the study where Solas always roamed, only just having finished stuffing Lavellan full of food and convincing her to rest.<p>

As he walked into the room, Solas stood from his chair to face the incoming mage.

"I have already told you Dorian, I am rather..."

That was all he managed to get out before Dorian reared back an arm, and cracked his fist across the elf's nose. Solas sprawled out on the floor, nose bleeding rather profusely, looking up at Dorian with a mixture of knowing and hatred. Though, whether or not that hatred was aimed at Dorian or himself, Dorian couldn't be sure. It didn't matter.

"I take it you know exactly why I did that, so I won't lecture you. Just know, there are those around keeping an eye on her, and would be more than happy to put you in your place if you stick another toe out of line."

"She wouldn't want to have me threatened. I did what I did, and what was done is between the two of us."

Dorian took a threatening step forward, "You have no idea what she wants. That much is abundantly clear," he spat. He jolted his hand out, and the tingle of magic could be felt in the air.

"What did you do to me?!" Solas demanded, as he struggled to his feet.

"Nothing you didn't deserve," Dorian snapped back, and with that, Dorian turned on his heel, leaving a rather shocked elf in his wake.

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><p>That night, the permanent residents of Skyhold crowded into the dining room for dinner, as they did every night. Long tables had been set up in the room, and many of Lavellan's companions were sitting along on said tables, eating and drinking away.<p>

Lavellan had come down after an afternoon of rest, and was socializing with the rest of her group. She was talking to Varric about a plotline in his latest thriller, when Varric went silent, staring at something behind her head. One by one, many others at the table did the same, except for Dorian, who looked like the cat who had gotten into the cream and finished the bowl. She turned around to see what the fuss was about, when she too, paused in shock.

There was Solas, carrying a plate of food away from the table, with a huge black eye splotched across his face.

"What happened Chuckles?" Varric said, trying and failing to hide his amusement at the elf's predicament.

"Nothing that you should concern yourself with," replied Solas stiffly, and with that, he walked out of the room, leaving a slightly disbelieving audience in his wake.

"I wonder what happened," said Cassandra, frowning slightly at the door he had just exited through.

"I wonder why he didn't heal himself," Vivienne responded.

With that, the conversation began to pick up again.

Lavellan was puzzled at Vivienne's remark though. She knew Solas was a talented healer, and was able to reduce the bruising and swelling of an injury; he had done it to her many times before. Her gaze was drawn to Dorian, still looking a mite too proud of himself.

"You?" she mouthed, her eyebrow raised in question.

His response was an innocent smile that she didn't believe for a second.

She raised her mug of ale to him, a smirk of her own growing on her face, and as he clinked his glass with hers, she felt better than she had in days.

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><p>Author's Note: So I never romance Solas in my playthrough, but I did hear all about it afterwards, and looked up videos and all that. I would have been so mad if that had happened to me, and I couldn't imagine any of the Inquisitor's friends would be so happy either. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed and please review!<p> 


	4. The Problem with Dragons

Author's Note: I do not own the farm, I am simply dancing in the barn. A big thanks to my beta HuntressoftheLight for all her help and suggestions.

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><p>A <em>dragon<em>. Why did they have to keep finding dragons? No—the better question was why did Lavellan _insist_ on fighting and killing every dragon they came across? Yes. That was the question of the hour and Dorian, try as he might, could not find an answer to it. The group was just supposed to be scouting the area in a final sweep before heading to the Caer Bronach and then back to Skyhold. Dorian had been looking forward to an easy run with the possibility of a few bandits, maybe a handful of demons, but no. They had to come across a Maker-damned dragon. Lavellan and Bull were almost salivating in their anticipation to fight it. And they called _him_ the barbarian!

"Dorian, come on!" shouted Levellan.

Dorian looked ahead and there she was, heading down the hill ahead of everyone else, hair flying everywhere with an infectious grin plastered across her face.

"I promise if we win, I'll get you something nice!" She yelled with a big wink in his direction. Bull was at her side, the two of them screaming and whooping as they raced through the grass towards the dragon.

Dorian gave a huge sigh of both resignation and exasperation as he unstrapped his staff, and took off down the hill after them with Solas running alongside.

"That is not exactly inspiring, dear," he muttered to himself, though he swore he heard a chuckle from the elf behind him.

When he got into range, the two idiots were already slashing away at the beast. Lavellan seemed to be dancing around it, weaving in and out of its legs and stabbing it where she could, while Bull was hacking at every piece of flesh his blade could touch. The dragon stretched out its neck and let out an earth shattering roar that drove both Lavellan and Bull to their knees.

"Well, I suppose that's our cue," sighed Dorian. With that, both he and Solas started to cast their spells at the creature below.

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><p>It was about halfway through the fight, when Dorian was healing Lavellan for the fourth time, that he changed his mind.<p>

"You know, if you do get me a present dear, I'd rather it be something deadly," he told her as she started to stand. "I feel like that would be more useful, given all the perilous situations you drag me into."

She straightened herself up, and stuck her gore covered hand out to him, which he shook with an eyebrow raised. "Deal," she said, a grin spreading across her face once again. With that, she turned on her heel, and dashed back to the dragon to resume fighting once more.

"What are you going to get me?" he yelled at her retreating form.

"It's a secret!" she yelled back as she rejoined the fray, prompting Bull to start shouting both 'Alright, boss!' and 'Die you son of a bitch!'—often in the same breath. Dorian almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation as he watched the two of them and their antics.

Dorian snapped out of it as a tail whipped dangerously close to his head, and he ducked just in the nick of time. He threw back another Lyrium potion, prepping himself for a new spell destined this time for the dragon's eyes.

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><p>Ale. There was an abundance of ale, which Dorian considered a major and much needed improvement over an abundance of dragon, even if the ale was substandard. He sat off to the side of the room nursing his cup while Bull was in the center, regaling the story of their heroic defeat of the dragon to the enraptured soldiers that gathered around him. The men and women seemed to be hanging off his every word, and there were constant cries of "cheers to the dragon slayers!" He had to admit, the story did sound rather awe-inspiring, and Bull wasn't even exaggerating that much. He could've given Varric a run for his money for his performance that night.<p>

Dorian gulped down the rest of his ale, and was about to fetch another cup when Lavellan threw herself down onto the floor beside him. She smirked up at him from her spot on the floor, "I told you we'd survive."

"Actually, you didn't. I believe the exact wording you used was _if_'," Dorian retorted, grabbing her cup from her hands and drinking deeply from it. He sat back in his chair with a contented sigh.

"Did I?" she questioned, looking as if she was thinking back to their previous conversation. She shrugged. "Oh well. We did survive, and I believe I promised you a present."

"It's been two hours since we got back. However did you manage to get something together already?" he asked.

"Well, if you want to get technical, it isn't your actual present. It's a drawing of it."

"A drawing..." Dorian said, skepticism coloring his voice.

"Here you go." She passed him a piece of paper, eyes alight with mischief.

He looked down at the paper, and his heart skipped a beat. It was a dragon bone staff, with dragon heartstring inside to help channel his magic. He was sure that there was nothing like it currently in existence. He just continued to stare at the page, taking in all the notes the craftsman had written, when Levellan started to ramble.

"I was hoping that this would be something you would like. I was looking through some ancient texts and it's fairly experimental, but Hamond and Dagna said that—"

"Lavellan."

She looked up at him, rather worried at his interruption.

"It is a marvelous gift," Dorian said softly. The tense lines on Levellan's face relaxed and she gave him a shy smile. He couldn't help but push his luck. "You should know that I would prefer _not_ to have to use it against any more of its kin."

That devilish smirk popped right back onto her face, "Don't be silly Dorian. Why, I heard that there are three dragons in the Emprise du Lion. And my favorite mage _will_ be accompanying me." She sprung to her feet, and made her way over to the soldiers still listening to Bull, completely ignoring the look of horror that was currently plastered on Dorian's face.

Dorian shook his head. That ridiculous woman was going to be the death of him. He looked over the schematic of his new weapon. 'Well,' he thought with a smile, 'at least I will die with an amazing staff in hand.' He drained the rest of the ale from the stolen tankard then got up to rejoin the two ruffians in their storytelling, which was growing, to his great amusement, increasingly ludicrous by the minute.

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><p>Note: So here is the latest chapter. It is a little shorter than the others, but this idea crawled its way into my head, and I just had to get it out. I also wanted to thank everyone who was reviewedfavorited so far, it has really inspired me :) I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please leave a review or favorite if you did!


	5. Indecent Proposal

Author's Note: As always I do not own Dragon Age, I'm just playing with their toys. Also, this chapter was inspired by an awesome comic strip created by Itsmyfreakin on tumblr. You can check out all of their fantastic art of their page here inmyfreaking . tumblr . com and the comic strip at itsmyfreaking . tumblr post/107312734305, though of course, with no spaces in between. I also just want to note that this is story is based off of my version of Lavellan in my playthrough, and not any other versions I have seen floating around. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Cullen stood at the entrance of the manor, seemingly at ease in his court finery, though his freshly shined shoe tapping every so often belayed his unease at the situation. Dorian, Varric and he waited in the foyer of the rented mansion near Halamshiral, and they had now been waiting well over forty-five minutes past the agreed meeting time. He wondered what in the name of the Maker was keeping the women.<p>

Vivienne and Leliana had disappeared from the group's preparation meeting hours ago, dragging Lavellan behind them, citing that they had preparations of their own to attend to. Cullen, however, had no idea what could be taking them so long. He voiced his concerns to the other two men, stating the possibility that something malevolent had befallen the ladies. Dorian smugly smirked and rolled his eyes while Varric stared at him with a look of amusement for a few seconds before reassuring him that the other group was, in fact, fine. Cullen swore that he heard Varric whisper something that sounded oddly like "chantry boys" to Dorian, but he couldn't be sure.

A few moments later, Leliana and Vivienne appeared through the door, and made their way into the room to greet the others, both dressed in their finest. Leliana was dressed in a fashionable gown of Orelesian design, all baby blue and silver thread, with shoes that were higher than anything he had ever seen before. Vivienne meanwhile, stuck to a look similar to her everyday Enchanter robes, but with more expensive fabrics and ornate detailing. Cullen supposed to himself that was one way to stand out in the crowd.

While Cullen was busy mentally cataloguing places where the women could store weapons in their gowns, he missed the entrance of his final companion.

"Well, how do I look?" came a cheerful voice from in front of him.

Cullen raised his gaze to the woman in front of him, and he could feel the heat immediately rush to his face. She looked stunning, though like nothing he had ever seen before. Her arms were covered in a thin, transparent fabric, and fluttered around her body with the slightest provocation. This cloth was then disappeared down into the bodice, which seemed to be made almost entirely of gold, with shapes and creatures detailed and cut out of the metal. There were Dalish symbols swirling around her breasts, and cut-outs of halls seemed to be dancing along her hips. The skirt of her dress came from underneath the metal plating, and flared out to sweep dramatically against the floor, the dark green hue matching the valaslin on her face perfectly. He knew such a dress would not be considered fashionable by Orelesian standards, but it made a statement that no one else at that ball would be able to come close to. Despite his very positive opinions on the matter, Cullen found himself rather unable to answer her question.

"Um, well..." he managed to stutter out, "That is...uh..."

"My darling Inquisitor, you look absolutely ravishing tonight!" Dorian's voice cut through the awkwardness. Cullen turned, his face still covered by the embarrassment at his own inability to speak, to the well spoken mage beside him. Thank the Maker for a good distraction.

"Looking pretty damn good, Inquisitor," Varric chimed in from behind.

"Though," Dorian said, sidling up to the Inquisitor's side, and wrapping an arm around her. He turned Levellan and himself to face Cullen directly. "I do believe that dress would look even better in a ball on Cullen's floor."

Cullen could not believe what he was hearing.

"Did you just... proposition the Inquisitor on my behalf?" asked Cullen, his own voice seeming rather far away and disconnected from his body.

"Well, you seem to be incapable of doing so yourself," said Dorian in a matter of fact voice, his eyebrow quirked at Cullen's question. Cullen was struggling to come back with any sort of response, when beautiful, full belly laughter cut through his inner confusion.

"You two are simply ridiculous," Levellan managed to get out between fits of laughter. With that, she turned to Dorian and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She perched on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear, and with a final wink, she made her way over to Cullen. "I will be seeing you later," she whispered into Cullen's ear. As their eyes met and sealed that promise, she brushed her lips slowly against his, meeting for only a moment before she pulled away. With a final smirk at the both men, she turned on her heel and made her way out of the house.

"You realize you now owe me, Inquisitor?!" Dorian cried at her retreating form.

"You'll get what you want Dorian, no need to worry," she yelled from the carriage she was entering. "Now all of you hurry up, we can't be _too_ fashionably late!"

Lelianna, still giggling into her hand over the whole incident raced out as gracefully as she could to meet Lavellan. Vivienne raised her eyes at the dramatics of it all and their carriage took off, leaving the men to travel together.

Cullen still stood on the threshold of the house, looking out at the street that Lavellan had just disappeared down. His hand still lingered on his lips. "Maker's breath," he sighed, replaying the moment again and again in his head.

"You're welcome" said Dorian, looking entirely too much like the cat who swallowed the cream.

Cullen sighed. He guessed, in a very odd and embarrassing way, he was indebted to Dorian, despite the crass execution. He steadied himself, and as they all walked together out to the carriage that waited for them, the conversation played over again in his mind.

"By the way Dorian, what exactly does the Inquisitor owe you?" Cullen inquired.

Dorian eyes lit up with mischief, immediately putting Cullen on edge. "Just a story," Dorian said, so nonchalantly that even Varric raised an eyebrow.

"What type of story?" asked Cullen, half afraid of the answer that was coming.

"I'm sure that you'll know what it is when it happens," Dorian said with a wink. As Varric snorted with laughter–and Cullen reddened with further embarrassment–the carriage took off towards the palace and the woman who seemed to be the center in all of their lives.

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><p>Authors Note: Thanks everyone so much for reading, and thanks again to everyone who has reviewed and favorited.<p> 


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